It's Complicated (Black & Blue in this Rain)
by Crystallion12
Summary: He'd never wanted to hurt them, not for any of their flaws, their scars or their hindrances- This was what brought him warmth, comfort; the ever bright souls of his fellow Paladins, his strange little family. Nothing would take his beloved Paladins away from him. Zarkon had never thought it'd change. But, not one of them had ever predicted the Fall of the Paladins. [One-Shot]


**It's Complicated** **(Black & Blue in this Rain)**

 _A One-Shot by Crystallion12,_

Telling the tale, inscribed upon a broken shard of their story, regarding the Voltron Paladins of Old,

for so few knew the truth all those years ago.

* * *

The sobs, screaming and rattling, were heartbreaking. "NO! P- PLEASE! YOU- YOU GET BACK HERE, RI- RIGHT N-N- _NOW_!"

He swallowed and pressed onwards, icy rain pelting down on his armour.

"ZARKON!"

The Black Paladin closed his dimly glowing eyes, blocked out the resounding shrieks of his fellow Paladin, and pushed onwards. More screams, sobbing- and the uneven _splash, slosh, splish-splash,_ and then a much louder _splash-squelch_ \- the noise of one tripped, landing in a puddle, or something. The vicious, wrenching tugs on his heartstrings were pulled ever harder.

"P- please… n-no… nooo… com… _come back_ … no… please… _PLEASE_ …"

At last, Zarkon turned, chest constricted, staring down at the pitiful creature, seeing the usually white-and-blue, teal-glowing armour splattered with filthy mud and rainwater among the sodden, dark green grass. Big fat tears were rolling down his flushed cheeks, his body shaking and convulsing with every crushing gasp.

" _Kitten…_ "

It was that, which took the Black Paladin by surprise.

His voice was deep, rumbling and powerful, like it'd always been, but even he couldn't fight the raw emotion there. "Kitten?" Zarkon took one hesitant step, splashes where his boots hit the soggy grass. His fellow warrior gasped again, furiously trying to rub his eyes, fists splattered with muck. Zarkon's claws wrapped around them, gently but firmly holding them mid-air, letting the raindrops fill the space between them, two miserable, supposedly undefeatable legends, both kneeling and crying in the rain and the hideous marshes, outside, shivering and cold and hurting.

"Kitt- kitten," He said again, hiccupping. "It's _your_ n- nickname… or… or it- t'was… Keisura teased you… She teased yo- you for _days_ …"

The Galra Paladin went silent, fighting against the liquid pooled in his own eyes, emotions conveyed so impossibly. Only the Paladins- and maybe Alfor's sweet little daughter, Princess Allura, Coran, or Zarkon's own sister- as their parents were dead- had ever been able to decipher the depths of those glowing purple fires, without a form of pupils, or much of a distinct light beyond their glow.

They were the Paladins of Voltron, yes, but it went deeper; they were family, and family loved and knew each other like that, didn't they?

Oh, his family, little and weird. Strong and brave and loyal, silly and kind and often quite confused when he wasn't around… Trying to comfort and calm down his teammate, kneeling beside him, it was hard to _not_ think about the other Paladins.

Their Red Paladin, Keisura, brave and reckless and brash, with an odd humility and desire to cuddle with anything remotely warm, fluffy, or friendly. She was very close to her small families, both blood and not, and he'd often find her playing with her Lion, training with someone, or deliberately teasing or flirting with friends or strangers. How many times now, had he grumbled, dragging Keisura away from red-faced, aroused males, most specifically from the planets they visited? Really, she could be awful, sometimes…

The Green Paladin, clever, wise F'lor. He wasn't really the oldest of them, although the most hunched and grouchy, and admittedly, somewhat wrinkly- Alfor was the oldest, but F'lor had that frosty, kindly air of an old, weary soul, and by goodness, could he _connect_ with nature. F'lor was probably the least huggable of them all, though, preferring peace and quiet, surrounded by summer breezes, shady trees, open fields, having a picnic with the Paladins and Lions, books and scrolls spread around them, just relaxing, the occasional friendly shoulder bump or nudge…

Taking also into mind how annoying, too, he could be, but, well, wasn't that part of what made them love him so?

Oh, Zarkon still remembered, and quite vividly, the first time F'lor had been told they'd have to fight bad guys, one way or the other, being Defenders of the Universe and all. _("FIGHT? Goodness, NO. I WILL_ NOT _GET MY HANDS DIRTY WITH THAT- THAT- BARBARIC- HOW- WHY? You all NEED HELP…_ ")

Then came Zarkon's long-time, trusted best Altean friend, King Alfor; the Yellow Paladin. Zarkon tried not to think much about him, because- well- that was somewhat the current problem, in a way. But dwelling on his thoughts, memories, it did melt his heart. Alfor was funny, kind, smart, immensely loving, supportive, and caring, compassionate towards all- and so forgiving, Zarkon wasn't ever sure what to even _make_ from that- but the King was also formidable, firm, strong, endlessly loyal and protective…

And here, sniffling and whining, a bit like a mewling, pitiful kitten, was their Blue Paladin, Cerath, also their youngest. True and trustworthy and quick, although not as fast or intelligent as F'lor or Keirusa. He'd always put the others before his own pale skin, ignoring all and every complication.

Zarkon remembered their worst incident, where he'd been terrified, helpless, as Cerath was limp, bleeding and ragged and _dying_ in his comparably too-large arms.

They'd been so afraid, so _lost_ … Zarkon hadn't slept or eaten, or really done anything, for six whole quintents after that incident, their normally calm and composed leader restless, snappish. Afterwards, they said he'd been _delusional_ with panic by the fifth quintent, not moving at all from the base of the Cryo-pod, and anyone who tried otherwise got snarled and swiped at…

Sometimes, thoughts like that managed to scare him, shaking him to the core. Who- what- was it that lurked deep within him, wild and cold?

So now, he tried forcing away those agonising memories and grievances, enveloping the Blue Paladin's quivering hand in one of his own, stroking his thumb over the smooth, almost scale-like texture, lightly coloured white, washes of pale mint and aqua, originating from Cerath's half-Altean, half-Mermaid Lineage. Even his hair was odd, a shimmering white, pearlescent and long down his back, thin and smooth; Cerath didn't really like anyone touching it, though. He wasn't quite _right_ , they all said, frowning, as if it was a mistake, or they'd misheard.

But to him, to their odd little family, he was perfect, and they wouldn't have him any other way.

"Please, Zar– please… please… kitten... Don't lea- leave us…"

Cerath bowed his pale white-blueish head, hair soaked and droopy, silver due to being drenched, choking back another gut-deep sob. All was quiet, except for the leader's murmurs and reassurances, the pouring of the rain, and the crying of his friend. The Blue Paladin trying to regain composure, and the Black struggling to hold his; no one would guess they were 'Legendary Defenders'.

Both seemed to be failing miserably at portraying that image.

The Black Paladin sighed, heavy-hearted, and his smile forlorn, he leant back, sitting properly and spreading out his purple arms wide, thrumming a purr to the younger Paladin, who threw himself into Zarkon's embrace desperately. He felt weak, nimble, frail fingers curling, grasping for a hold to his strong form, and could feel Cerath's frigid tears, dripping from the Paladin's eyes, and freely trickling down his neck, without either of their Paladin helmets on; the coldness of it was, all in all, a fair contrast, even, to the slightly warm, but otherwise dull and depressing rainfall.

Such a thought made a shaky laugh escape the leader, abrupt and booming in the cold.

Cerath sniffled, looking up at him quizzically.

"Look at us…" Zarkon felt a half-hearted smile creeping on his scarred face. "This… Well. What a cliché, this, don't you think…?"

A moment later, and both were snickering through their tears.

Cerath wriggled, shuffling and snuggling until he was comfortably pressed in the crook of Zarkon's left arm, knees tucked to his soaked-through shirt, but with enough space so that he could extend his right hand out, opening it, watching water pool in his palm. "Yeah… Yep. Just… Just cryin- and s- sad… in the _rain_ … Wow- w- we must sound l- like… you know… clichés… Maybe rain _does_ that… I didn't really think of t- that…"

The Galra Paladin tilted his chin upwards, letting rain blur the violet glow of his eyes around the edges.

"Maybe," He remarked, voice softer. "We could ask F'lor, if we get the chance."

"Yeah… Something to occupy him… I swear, that's half your job, isn't it? Constantly entertaining him… He's so _annoying_..."

"Hmm."

Cerath nestled his head against Zarkon's broad chest, bottom lip trembling suddenly.

Zarkon strengthened their embrace. A fierce, roaring desire to _hold_ and _protect_ and _love_ was burning brightly amidst the Galra's currently raging sea of cloudy, shadowed emotions. That much was true.

"Are y- you mad… mad at m-me…?"

The half-Altean quivered, feeling the top of his head met with a gentle nuzzle, and Zarkon murmured, barely beyond a whisper. "Never…" And he began stroking Cerath's back, up and down with calloused hands, surprisingly soothing and nice despite their roughness, occasionally tucking strands of hair away. He noticed Cerath wasn't wearing his Blue Paladin armour, despite the outdoor situation, wearing a very thin, now-clingy-and-soggy shirt, and velvety pyjama bottoms. Although, in all fairness, it _was_ the middle of the night, and Zarkon hadn't exactly made any announcements lately about _leaving._

They stayed in relative silence for a few more hundred ticks, not overly bothered by the steady fall of the precipitation.

Not far away, turrets climbing to the dark night sky, was the Castle of Lions, a home they both adored. But spread out before them were the vast, grand mountains, snowy peaks, twisting, magnificent canyons, mystical forests, sparkling lakes and speeding rivers, the renown purple waterfalls of the Planet Pluvia.

Cerath trailed a finger down Zarkon's chest plate, lost in thought. "Why are you angry with Al? We… We heard you two yelling…"

"It's… A little complicated, I'm afraid. There's little you guys can probably do…" He sighed. "But, we'll- to say, me and Alfor- we'll try our best to work it out. I won't say it'll be easy, though, so… I don't know. I wouldn't expect this to just… Go away, no matter how much I'd like it to…" Cerath sniffed. Zarkon continued, even quieter. "I'm scared to try and push. It's… Delicate…"

The Blue Paladin shuddered, resting his reedy, bony hand on Zarkon's forearm, as if for a supportive grip. So he wouldn't fall. "I understand…"

"We should… We should probably get back, though, they'll surely be awake now…"

Cerath stared up into Zarkon's eyes anxiously. "Will you be okay?"

" _We_ will be," He replied, a sad smile blending on his distraught features, shiny, wet, mingled with tears and rain. "We, together… We'll get through this. _All_ of us..."

They exchanged fleeting, feeble smiles, held tightly in a protective hug.

Zarkon breathed in his little Paladin's scent, ocean waves, the sea, light dapples of flowers and perfumes, and the smell of the planet, so blissfully at ease. He was reassured by the deep, soothing rumble of the Black Lion, satisfied, but wary and pained, in the back of his mind. He gazed down at Cerath, safe and finally _relaxing_ , pulled close to his chest, unrelenting in his cuddling. _We'll be okay,_ he told himself, determined, squeezing Cerath's shoulders, _we have to be_.

Scooping up the Blue Paladin in his arms, realising the hybrid was basically asleep, slightly rocking him, he slowly walked towards his Lion, gazing down at them nobly, protectively, kindly, stood at the Castle entrance. _We'll be okay_. He repeated this, over and over, a mantra he never wanted to forget.

They returned to the Castle, exhausted, and sleepily they changed into more comfortable clothing, knowing by abandoned, open bedroom doors that the rest of the Paladins wanted to be together tonight. Silent, the Paladins Black and Blue joined Red, Green and Yellow, falling asleep without a word in the Paladin-Night-Slumber Chamber, snuggled, curled up with one another, surrounded by faint, enchanting glows in the vast, domed room, the ceiling sparkling like the night sky, silk pillows and fluffy blankets and heated cushions littering the floor, knowing that in the coming dawn, all would be right…

It would _have_ to be, that was how they _were_ , a _family_ , the Defenders of the _Universe_ …

Creeping dread and fear never left Zarkon that night, but warmth did seep into his bones steadily, his soul alight when his fellow Paladins reacted.

A drowsy F'lor blinking at him, with rare tenderness, he shuffled until his head was propped against Zarkon's left shoulder, making it a brand new head-prop, apparently- and Alfor's hand grasped the clawed one of his shaken friend, offering a weak smile, eyes blurred by uneasy tears, promising they'd figure it out later; mostly asleep, Cerath meekly wriggled to lay, curled up and submissive, pressed into their leader's right side, while Keirusa's head lazily flopped on Zarkon's lower back, nudging her shoulders and neck to relax against his hip.

 _This_ was what brought him warmth, _comfort_ ; their steady breathing, F'lor's shallow, shuddering snores, Keirusa's deep rumbles like his own, the heartbeat of Cerath against his body, their breaths warm against his flesh. Zarkon's hand found itself stroking their cheeks, carding through hair once or twice, holding his teammates close, foreheads pressed featherlight against his friends', knowing they were long and fast asleep by now.

He wasn't sure, really, if he actually _could_ leave these bright souls, so in tune and _right_ eous alongside his own. Zarkon loved them so very, _very_ dearly, more than anything…

No, he didn't think he could do that, leaving this heaven of their own. So, ignoring the tingling sensation of paranoia, slithering and coiling around his quaking mind, for now he'd savour what they had. Zarkon nestled down, inhaling, exhaling, deep, calming breaths, Black Paladin Armour and Bayard disposed, lost among the upturned blankets, most of them now bunched and loosely draped over the five.

And slowly, but surely, the bright glow of his eyes dimmed, and they all slept in sync, _together_ , hearts beating as _one_.

 _Nothing_ would take his beloved Paladins away from him.

Zarkon had never thought it'd change.

But, not one of them- not loyal Cerath, kind Alfor, brave Keirusa, wise F'lor, or their beloved Zarkon- could have ever predicted the Fall of the Paladins.


End file.
